


The Show Must Go On

by JanuaryGrey (Jan3693)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Gen, I Made Myself Cry, Inspired by Music, M/M, Pre-Order of the Phoenix, So Much Angst and Sad, Why Did I Write This?, inspired by Queen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-03 20:44:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14577291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jan3693/pseuds/JanuaryGrey
Summary: A short, angsty little ficlet set right before Order of the Phoenix reflecting on Sirius and music, specifically one song by Queen.





	The Show Must Go On

**Author's Note:**

> (Lyrics are by Queen from the song "The Show Must Go On")
> 
> After writing Chapter Sixteen of _The Dog You Feed_ and spending so much time thinking about Sirius and music and Queen, my mind just went to sadder connections between the two and this is the result. I'm so sorry.

It was a small gesture, but one that made all the difference. 

The record player was old, vintage if you were being kind. Years and years ago it had belonged to his Muggle mother, so it requires a bit of charming to make it play in a place so heavy with magic, but he makes it work. 

There had been a different record player years ago, and many, many albums along with it. Remus doesn’t know what had happened to them. He’d only gone back to the flat once, to grab the handful of his things he really couldn’t live without. He hadn’t had the stomach to touch any of Sirius’s possessions. Nor had he had the guts to set them all on fire. Now he wonders what had happened to that other record player; what happened to all the albums Sirius had lovingly collected? 

If he’d known then what he knows now, Remus would have saved them all. He would have saved everything: Sirius’s leather jacket, his favorite mug, his socks, even his half-empty pack of cigarettes. It’s a moot point though, because if he’d known the truth then, everything would be different now.

When he realizes he doesn’t have enough on his own, he collects a bit of money from the rest of the Order, making excuses about missed birthdays and Christmases. He can tell they all feel guilty as they hand over spare Sickles and the odd Galleon. Gringotts converts it all to Muggle pounds and pence for him, and Remus spends half a day digging through record store bargain bins and charity shops. He finds a few things he remembers Sirius loving, songs he recalls Sirius singing (the poor bastard couldn’t carry a tune with a bucket and a waterproofing charm, but he’d never let that stop him), or artists he knows Sirius used to fawn over. 

With some trepidation, he buys some newer things too. Albums that were released when Sirius was locked away in Azkaban. This is a risk, Remus knows. There’s no telling if Sirius will like it, and there’s no telling how he’ll feel about the reminder that, in addition to everything else, he missed out on more than a decade of new music.

When his money runs out, Remus gathers all the records into a sack and takes them to Grimmauld Place.

Remus hasn’t seen Sirius smile once since he stepped foot in his family’s ancestral home and Dumbledore locked the door behind him. He does now. His face breaks into a grin that, for one shining instant, Remus can see the young man he was before. 

“Moony! Thank you! Merlin, thank you so much!” With _the Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars_ still in one hand, Sirius throws his arms around Remus. Remus hugs him back and tries to focus on the familiar smell of Sirius beneath the stench of alcohol. He can’t blame Sirius for drinking, but he can hope to distract him from it.

From then on, Grimmauld Place is full of music. Sometimes it’s quiet, drifting down from Sirius’s bedroom. Other times it booms loud enough to drown out the curses of Walburga Black’s portrait. 

Music always helped Sirius process his emotions before, and to Remus’s relief it does so again. Sometimes the record on the turntable wails with grief and sorrow and all too often it screams with anger, but sometimes when they’re alone together and things don’t feel entirely dire, Sirius puts on a love song.

Remus comes back one day, utterly exhausted. He’d been lurking on Privet Drive, disillusioned and hidden from sight as he took his shift watching over Harry and the Dursleys. More than anything in the world, Remus had wanted to sneak across the street and reveal himself to Harry, to let the boy know he wasn’t alone, that he wasn’t abandoned yet again. Instead, Remus had held to his post and followed Dumbledore’s orders. At least, he thinks as he opens the door to Grimmauld Place, he would have news to bring Sirius about his godson.

The music greets him, wafting in from the drawing room. Sirius hates going in there, but if that’s where the music is coming from that must be where he is. 

_“Empty spaces, what are we living for  
Abandoned places, I guess we know the score”_

__Sirius is sprawled on a dusty, doxie-eaten sofa, one arm over his eyes, the other resting on the floor, his fingers around the neck of a bottle.

“Sirius?” Remus calls. He doesn’t ask if everything is all right. That’s a stupid, stupid question. He does wonder where everyone else is. The Weasleys arrived a few days ago to help clean, and Hermione came shortly after them. Molly has already made her distaste for Sirius’s music known, and if she were here Remus is certain she would be in the room complaining about it or asking if Sirius didn’t have anything “nicer” to put on, Celestina Warbeck perhaps?  
__  
“Another hero, another mindless crime  
Behind the curtain, in the pantomime”

 __“Sirius?” Remus says when his first call goes unanswered. Sirius stirs a bit, drawing one leg up, letting his fingers drop from the bottle. It’s enough to assure Remus he hasn’t passed out. That’s something at least.

He moves to the end of the couch, sidling in beneath Sirius’s bare feet and settling them back on his lap. He rests a hand on Sirius’s ankle.

“Did you know he’s dead, Moony?” Sirius asks. He doesn’t slur the words, but there’s real pain in them.

“Who’s dead?” Remus hates that he has to ask. He prays that Sirius doesn’t say James’s name. They rehash those memories far too often, but what else is there to do when all Sirius has left are the bad ones, the memories the dementors spat out and left him to drown in.

“Freddie Mercury.” He lifts a hand and gestures toward the record player still crooning its sad song. The name is familiar. Remus was never quite the music buff that Sirius was, but it was impossible to live with Sirius, let alone to love him, without picking up some things. Mercury was the singer in one of Sirius’s favorite bands. 

Remus remembers the news of it happening just a few years ago. At the time, he had been living more in the Muggle world than the Wizarding one, working odd jobs to get by. He’d heard about Mercury’s passing on the evening news. He also remembers the rumors, many of them vicious and insulting, that had run through tabloids and whispers for weeks and months and even years before that about his illness and its causes.  
__  
“Inside my heart is breaking  
My make-up may be flaking  
But my smile still stays on”

 __“Hermione told me,” Sirius says, answering one of the questions going through Remus’s head. “She heard me listening to one of the albums and said what a shame it was about Freddie Mercury’s death…She’s a good girl that one, good friend for Harry.”

He isn’t slurring, but Sirius has definitely been drinking. Remus wants to take the bottle away and dump it down the kitchen sink, but Sirius will just bribe Mundungus to bring him more with the promise of some old family heirloom.

“I’m sorry I didn’t think to tell you,” Remus says. It never crossed his mind, not with a war to fight, Harry to protect, and Sirius already falling to pieces on him. 

“It’s all right,” Sirius says. “More important things going on. It’s just…”

Another thing he missed while wasting away in Azkaban. Another thing he’s lost.

“This was his last song,” Sirius says. “I like it.” 

They listen in silence for a minute. Mercury was dying as he recorded this song. You can feel the inevitability in the lyrics. Remus isn’t sure he likes it. It’s undoubtedly a beautiful song, but it hits too close to home right now. He doesn’t want to find parallels between Sirius and Mercury.

There’s so much Remus wants to say. He wants to tell Sirius not to give up hope. He wants to promise that things will get better, that they will win this war and Sirius will be able to burn this accursed house to the ground like he dreams of doing. He wants to tell Sirius that he loves him, that he needs him, but that he’s not sure this thing between them is healthy for either of them right now. 

Some idiot rings the doorbell. Again.

Walburga’s portrait wakes up and begins screaming curses above the sound of Freddie Mercury’s final song. Sirius sits up with a sigh, pulling his legs out of Remus’s lap. The sound of many voices call out from the hallway, the Weasleys back from wherever they’d gone. 

Sirius picks up the bottle as he gets to his feet. He lifts the needle from the record, cutting the music off before stowing the record player and the bottle on a shelf hidden behind a moldy tapestry. He walks back to the couch as the voices grow louder and more distinct. 

Smiling dryly, Sirius extends a hand and helps Remus stand. His knees pop and his hip twinges on the way up. 

“Sirius,” Remus says, not sure what he wants to say next, what maybe he needs to say next.

Sirius just shakes his head, still smiling that forlorn little smile. “Like a great man once said, Moony, ‘the show must go on.’” He gathers what bits and pieces of himself he can and heads out of the room to see what’s happening now. Remus trails after him, lyrics still playing in his head.  
__  
“Ooh, I'll top the bill, I'll overkill  
I have to find the will to carry on  
On with the show  
On with the show  
The show, the show must go on”


End file.
